


where no one can hear

by starbear (panda_hiiro)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Heavy Angst, Literally nothing but angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 06:07:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14098923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_hiiro/pseuds/starbear
Summary: Lance doesn't want to talk about it.Shiro can't let it go.





	where no one can hear

They say that in space, no one can hear you scream.

  
Space is black and empty, an endless vacuum filled with dust and debris and dying stars. No sound, no air, and Lance wishes right now that he could give himself to the void just to feel the breath steal from his lungs. He wants to scream, and scream, and scream, and know that no one can hear him.

  
It’s been days and he’s still here, staring out the window of the observation deck at the sea of unfamiliar stars. Actually, he’s not entirely sure _how_ long it’s been - his mind reels at trying to convert ticks and doboshes into minutes and hours - but however long it’s been, it feels longer, and still he can’t will himself up from the little ball he’s curled himself into, nestled against a defunct console. It’s not much of a hiding place, but no one’s been by to see him; either they don’t know where he is, or they don’t know how to face him. Likely the latter.

  
No one, anyway, except Shiro.

  
“You’re still here.” It isn’t a question, and there’s no hint of surprise in Shiro’s voice.

  
“Go away, Shiro,” Lance mutters, hugging his knees to his chest and pressing his face against them. “I told you already to leave me alone.”

  
“You did,” Shiro admits, “But I’m worried about you, Lance.”

  
Lance scoffs, something ugly and sharp burning in his chest.

  
“You’re worried about me. That’s nice.”

  
“Don’t be like that.”

  
“Like what? Just go away, alright? I don’t wanna talk to you.”

  
“I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay,” Shiro says.

  
“I’m _not_ okay,” Lance says, bristling, “What do you want me to say, Shiro? I can’t just magically forget about this and move on.”

  
Shiro breathes out a quiet sigh.

  
“You’re still mad at me.”

  
“No _shit_ , Sherlock.”

  
Lance hasn’t bothered to look up at Shiro, but he can imagine his expression well enough - brows knit, mouth drawn in a frown that’s some mixture of pity and sorrow. Lance has seen that look often enough by now to have every angle of it perfectly memorized.

  
“I’m sorry,” Shiro says, finally, after a long pause.

  
“You keep saying that.”

  
“Because I mean it.”

  
“And exactly how does that change things? Sometimes ‘sorry’ just doesn’t cut it, Shiro.” Lance hugs his knees a little tighter, struggling to keep the tremor out of his voice. “Everybody thinks I’m crazy for even talking to you. You know, Hunk and Allura won’t even look me in the eye? I’ve barely seen Pidge and Matt, and Keith...well. You can probably figure out how he feels about it.”

  
“Give them some time. They'll understand,” Shiro says. “I know it's been hard.”

  
“No, you don't know. You _don't_ know, Shiro, because I'm the one that has to deal with it. I'm the one, while you're… you're…”

  
“Lance…”

  
“I just. You made me do it. How could you make me do that? Why, Shiro?”

  
Shiro reaches for him then, and Lance can almost feel his touch, can imagine so well his warmth, the subtle smell of him, the firmness of his embrace. But there's nothing there, nothing but the empty space all around him, and the vision of Shiro that lives now only in his mind.

  
“I trusted you,” Shiro whispers, “I knew you would do the right thing. I knew you'd protect them, and you did. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

  
Lance wants so desperately to reach for him, to curl his fingers in the fabric of Shiro’s shirt, to nestle his face in the crook of his neck and shoulder; the apparition that lingers before him is either a ghost or a sign of his own mind rebelling against him, but either way, it’s only a figment, wan and transparent, leaving nothing to hold on to.

  
“I should have been able to save you,” Lance says, and he can _feel_ the crack in his voice, running through him like a faultline.

  
“Sometimes, in war, we have to make hard choices.” Shiro’s hand ghosts first over Lance’s hair, then down along the curve of his back. “You did the right thing.”

  
Lance can still hear the cacophony of the fight, the mixture of confusion and desperation in his team’s voices, the broken plea that Shiro had made in that one last, brief moment of lucidity; he can still feel the sweat beading on his skin and the sick lurch of his stomach as he realized what he had to do; he can still hear the slick sound of his bayard as it slid smooth and clean through Shiro’s body, and the heavy finality of Shiro’s body hitting the floor. He can still smell the blood on his hands, even now, and he thinks that they might never come clean.

  
“Hearing that doesn’t make it any easier.”

  
“No,” Shiro says, “I know. And I understand if you hate me for it.”

  
“I don’t hate you,” Lance says, his voice thick with misery, “I miss you.”

  
Lance imagines the weight of Shiro’s arms around him, and there, alone in that quiet space, with no one to hear him, finally lets himself scream.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by some talk about Shiro being mind-controlled into attacking the team, and Lance having to stop him. I'm miserable about it and needed to share.


End file.
